She would subscribe to this worthy charity--and would take her
subscription, herself. Settled--easily and well settled. She
did not involve herself, or commit herself in any way. Besides,
those who might find out and might think she had overstepped the
bounds would excuse her on the ground that she had not been back
at home long and did not realize what she was doing.
What should she wear?
Her instinct was for an elaborate toilet--a descent in state--or
such state as the extremely limited resources of Martin Hastings'
stables would permit. The traps he had ordered for her had not
yet come; she had been glad to accept David Hull's offer of a
lift the night before. Still, without a carriage or a motor she
could make quite an impression with a Paris walking dress and
hat, properly supported by fashionable accessories of the toilet.
Good sense and good taste forbade these promptings of nature.
No, she would dress most simply--in her very plainest
things--taking care to maintain all her advantages of face and
figure. If she overwhelmed Dorn and Miss Gordon, she would
defeat her own purpose--would not become acquainted with them.
In the end she rejected both courses and decided for the riding
costume. The reason she gave for this decision-- the reason she
gave herself--was that the riding costume would invest the call
with an air of accident, of impulse. The real reason.
It may be that some feminine reader can guess why she chose the
most startling, the most gracefully becoming, the most artlessly
physical apparel in her wardrobe.
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